The absence of evidence is not the evidence of an absence

Everyone thinks Lyra is pretty.
Her beauty fell off her high cheekbones,
And landed onto the soft cushions of her full lips.
They weave tales with her DNA,
And sew their hearts with strands from her braided hair,
While I look on puzzled,
Not understanding how they don’t see,
With each push of the needle,
They also poke a bleeding hole,
That stains it’s natural colour.
Don’t misunderstand,
I love her…but,
All I know is that when I rush to her room,
For sanctuary,
Her bed is warm and inviting,
But she isn’t there.
Her vacant stare catches my breath,
But not in the way,
It would a lover looking at her loved one.
Her smile is devastatingly sad,
Because unlike everyone,
I know her.
I know how beautiful she actually was,
Behind that porcelain prison everyone praises,
That not a minute ago,
She looked outside her window,
Watching the pieces of her soul fly past her,
Into the night,
As she waited,
Waited for her heart to return,
While she stood there,
Hollow,
Dying slowly,
In the arms of such insanity,
Only longing could design.

That burnt smell from your body after spending too many hours in the sun,
That scar from a paper cut,
The pile of dishes in the sink,
That bad haircut,
Stains on a glass table,
Graphs and Numbers,
Roofs of asbestos,
Hanging of dream catchers,
Flickering of live wire,
Abandoned terraces,
Wet sneakers,
Footprints on the wall,

Nope.
None at all.

Did you somehow have a faint memory from any of this?
Nothing needs to mean anything all the time.
Pulling out of focus, and holding ourselves by ourselves.

I dont want to write.
I dont want to write
About love
and the things it does.
About heartbreak
and what never was.
About pain and hurt,
hearts covered in dirt.
About the ‘color of your eyes’,
and your ‘lips on my skin’
About how ‘instead of looking outside,
you must look within.’

About romanticizing and eulogizing,
faces, events and places.
About even and odd spaces
between two people or
humanity,
pretension of insanity.

About women,
About souls,
About how they feel used
for looking like dolls.

About sex
and intimacy,
the throes of passion,
and how even that,
is another form of
inadequacy.

About anxiety
and depression,
About painkillers
and obsession.
About things that kill
me from the inside,
about how most of the things
are really those that affect me
on the outside.

I’ve gotten thoroughly violated, exposed, and tainted, with all due credits to you. My sanity has been disposed of well and my purity has acquired many keys. I’m no longer left with self-conscious and respect. All roles of mine have been conveniently forbidden immaculacy. My objectifications at all your endeavours seem to have gained much profit. You have become quite prosperous and satisfied by merchandising my form. The power you pose has made your origin of existence itself loose identity. Now, being also seems empty without assault and abuse. I have accepted fear and throughout remain scared from exposing my anatomy. The days seem incomplete without pain and cries. It’s exemplary to see you never stop. Now having broadened your areas, you’ll fetch more catches. The buses and vans are very feasible and well equipped. You’re charisma and oomph is indeed commendable. The other day, I told my babies about you, they’re too, ready for you. All set to get tickled and explored. They’ve asked me to teach them subservience and surrender for making it easier to behave. All the mishandling, misuse and misdeeds has surely been affluent. That barbarousness has successfully slaughtered my virtue. Trust me, your business will expand and reach far beyond, it’s so promising that harassment and prostitution seems so convenient. Most of all, I’m astounded by your insatiability and heinousness. All this leading the formation of the perfectly ideal solitary society. It requires much applause.

Everybody is talking about the stranger they fell in love with, their best friend’s birthday, the chill of the rain, the warmth of their blankets, the tension in a traffic jam, Adele’s hello, the grief of breakup, the loss of a loved one or the destruction of flesh and blood.

My hole is getting bigger and it’s losing the locus of control. I’m dying a little bit inside every time a girl is raped, a poor man is attacked, a black man remains unemployed, an orphan sleeps homeless, a pregnant woman dies of hunger or the mankind is bombed by another man. It’s deepening, making it harder for me to recover.

Left in the cold I’m numb now, I cannot feel anymore.

What had I even asked for? A night under the sparkling stars, the tranquillity of the beach, the blessing of the sunrise, the heat of daylight, the silence of the forest, the calm of the sea or the trees on earth, which was all, already provided. I had trusted and given the power to withhold my identity and put into words my desires but u chose to induce that power into those machines to destroy my name.

I’m left with no choice but to summon my death before morality loses its value, ethics turn savage, chastity surrenders to pleasure, honesty evils minds, justice has no balance and humanity forgets its identity.

He came to my office. Cologne and desperation filled the air. “How may I help you now?” . Without answering, he placed himself on the opposite side of the desk. “We both don’t work here. You’ve already made yourself at home?” . “Yes” I curtly replied.

————————-

AJ looked at himself. Blood dripped onto the carpet. He tried wiping it on his crisp khakis. Maroon stripes trailed in aggravated straight lines. It wouldn’t leave his hands. Blood reappeared His hands now stained in maroon, he smelt the distinct smell of iron. Taking his hands up to his nose, he slowly took a sniff. Blood was now on his nose. He wiped it on the curtain. Opening the window now he looked out. Lovely suburban neighbourhood, fences, flowers, landscaping, SUs lining the street. Then he saw something that froze him completely. The black Lexus slowly moving by the road. As if looking for something. He knew exactly what it was. Him. He heard the dripping. Sometimes one drop, sometimes two. He quickly swished out his phone. He wished he hadn’t. He got a call immediately. From G. “But will I get caught? Are you sure you’re protecting me?… You knew every single thing I did?… Am I going to be punished?”. He quickly got off the phone as he heard Sheryl walk in.

“Hey are you ready yet?.. You look great in those pants! Come on now.. Let’s go!” she exclaimed. Wiping his hands once more in his pocket, he takes a quick glance outside the window. All clear. He still smelt iron. He hoped Sheryl didn’t. He would have to explain himself to G.